When Raphael enjoyed at Rome the reputation of being the mightiest
living master of the graphic art, the Bolognese preferred their
countryman, Francisco Francia, who had long dwelt among them, and was of
eminent talent. The two artists had never met, nor had one seen the
works of the other. But a friendly correspondence existed between them.
The desire of Francia to see some of the works of Raphael, of whom he
ever heard more and more in praise, was extreme; but advanced years
deterred him from encountering the fatigues and dangers of a journey to
Rome. A circumstance at last occurred that gave him, without this
trouble, the opportunity of seeing what he had so long desired. Raphael
having painted a picture of St. Cecilia, to be placed in a chapel at
Bologna, he wrote to Francia, requesting him to see it put up, and even
to correct any defects he might perceive in it. As soon as Francia took
the picture from its case, and put it in a proper light for viewing it,
he was struck with admiration and wonder, and felt painfully how much he
was Raphael’s inferior. The picture was indeed one of the finest that
ever came from Raphael’s pencil; but it was only so much the more a
source of grief to the unhappy Francia. He assisted, as desired, in
placing it in the situation for which it was intended; but never
afterwards had he a happy hour. In one moment he had seen all that he
had ever done, all that had been once so much admired, thrown quite into
the shade. He was too old to entertain any hope, by renewed efforts, of
coming up with the excellence of Raphael, or even approaching it. Struck
to the heart with grief and despair, he took to his bed, from which he
never rose again. He was insensible to all consolation, and in a few
days, the victim of a sublime melancholy, he died, in his sixty-eighth
year.